Wrapped Around Your Finger
by guineapiggie
Summary: "It was actually pretty tragic, Sansa thought as she wandered through the flat, how much she disliked being alone here. She shouldn't want Petyr to be around, right, she should be glad she was rid of him for a few hours, free of his manipulation, his crooked smiles and his dirty comments. But she wasn't. She was just bored." [Modern AU; songfic to the song of the same name]


**Wrapped Around Your Finger**

 **DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters, songs or bands referenced or used belong to me. Everything is with their rightful owners, no money is made of this.

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 _ ***A/N***_ I posted this on AO3 ages ago and I kept thinking I might come up with some kind of improved version because I'm really insecure about this piece but, alas, it doesn't really look like inspiration is about to strike, so why deprive you of this? I hope you'll all still enjoy it ^^

 _ **This piece is part of a series and is preceeded by "Liar, Liar", "The Mockingbird's Song", "Players and Pieces" and "Ghost of the Past".**_

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It was actually pretty tragic, Sansa thought as she wandered through the flat, how much she disliked being alone here. She shouldn't _want_ Petyr to be around, right, she should be glad she was rid of him for a few hours, free of his manipulation, his crooked smiles and his dirty comments.

But she wasn't. She was just _bored._

After an hour or two, she ventured further than the kitchen and the living room. Petyr's study was locked – she knew where he kept the key, and if she put her mind to it, she would certainly manage to steal it. But who knew what he'd do if he found out?

She scoffed when she tried his bedroom door and it sprang open immediately. "Arrogant dick," she muttered with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. _Of course_ he hadn't locked it. He was _expecting_ her to come calling now that he'd stopped sneaking into her room at night.

She didn't know if he was counting on her curiosity or if he actually thought she was that attracted to him, but either way, she couldn't believe his overconfidence.

Because she would not, she would never _want_ to. She wouldn't, _never_.

And if she'd ever wondered why he didn't just take what he wanted without her encouragement – after all, he clearly hadn't cared before – then that was only because she knew he was plotting something and she had to come prepared.

Just because she didn't want to throw up everytime he looked at her didn't mean she wanted to sleep with him. Just because she was starting to enjoy their conversations didn't mean the thought of him kept her awake at night. Just because she caught glimpses of _Petyr_ and was intrigued and bizarrely sympathetic didn't mean she could forget what Littlefinger had done.

The first thing she saw when she pushed the door open made her scoff. Black silk sheets, _of course,_ what else would he cover his bed with? They were neatly folded and perfectly parallel to the edge of the mattress. There was it again, that slight obsessive-compulsive touch that she noticed in his behaviour from time to time.

Secondly, the bed was monstrous, even bigger than the one in Sansa's room. She'd always thought her bed was the size it was on purpose, that he _wanted_ it to feel too cold and too big when she was lying in it alone. But she didn't quite see why he would do the same thing to himself.

There was a small black alarm clock on the bedside table, analogue, she doubted it even ran on batteries. He really took no chances; he couldn't afford to be late. Next to it, there was a bottle of water, untouched.

There were two books in the drawer underneath; one on finances and the stock market and one in a nondescript dust jacket. Curiously, she took it up and opened it where the bookmark stuck. She was almost certain it wasn't there to mark where he'd stopped reading – he loved his secrecy far too much to give something like that away so easily.

 _...He took what he could get, ravenously and unscrupulously - eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took her because he had no real right to touch her hand..._

It didn't take more than those few lines for her to recognise the novel and a smile spread on her lips. She couldn't have picked a more fitting book than this.

His wardrobe was nothing but suits and expensive black leather shoes; neatly folded shirts, white, black, grey, dark green, dark blue. The only colourful thing she found were his ties, and the most casual clothing were two pairs of dark jeans and a bunch of polo shirts. It was all very costly, very high quality. Sansa grinned, remembering Jaime, Joffrey's uncle, who'd always mocked Petyr's clothes-consciousness (even though Jaime's own clothes probably cost little less). _"That should be a peacock on his tie. Next thing he'll be wearing cloaks. Or bowler hats, who knows._ "

She wondered if she should be feeling guilty for snooping around his stuff, but in the end, she figured she had every right to breach his private sphere.

Her next discovery was a lot more unexpected. In a small cupboard she found more books, nothing like what she had thought she'd find. They were all belletrist, mostly classics; _Dracula, The Perfume;_ the complete works of William Shakespeare and a handful of poetry collections, and _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ which made her laugh a lot more than it should have. There even were some foreign books, several French ones, something that she guessed was Russian and some she identified as German with some effort. Her lessons were so long ago that she couldn't for the life of her translate the titles, and to her horror she found most of her French had been lost over time as well. With an angry frown, she took the shortest book out of the shelf and placed it on the bed, thinking that maybe he wouldn't notice its disappearance too soon.

There was no way she would let the Lannister take away the knowledge she'd once prided herself on so much. Maybe she could ask Petyr for a dictionary when he came back.

Underneath the books, she discovered over thirty old vinyl LPs, neatly organised in alphabetical order. With a surprised smile, she reached out and pulled one out at random.

 _Van Halen._ Very faintly, she remembered hearing that name sometime on the radio, years ago. With a quick glance around the room she confirmed there was no player to be found, then got to her feet and continued her search in the living room.

* * *

By the time she heard the bolts of the door give their usual thump, announcing Petyr's return, she'd worked her way through almost a third of his collection. Some of it, she'd found absolutely dreadful, some she'd recognised, and some she really liked. Those were stacked on the couch table.

He entered the living room, a slightly shocked look in his grey-green eyes for a second or so, then he smiled his usual empty smile and said: "You need to turn that up, sweetling. There's no point in that song at that volume."

Sansa grinned. "I didn't want to cause any trouble with the neighbours."

He laughed and put his jacket down on the couch. "Trouble with the neighbours? I could shoot you in here and no one would hear."

"Very reassuring," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "You like that one, don't you?" she asked tentatively after a moment, motioning towards the cover of the LP that was currently playing.

"I haven't touched them in years, Sansa," he said nonchalantly, but Sansa shook her head.

"It looks well used. The vinyl's pretty scratched as well."

A little more substantial smile tugged at his lips. "I bought it with my first money. I liked the way they mocked my petty teenage problems, I guess."

She almost laughed – that was exactly what she'd thought of one of the songs, that it seemed to make fun of the whole misery that had been Petyr and her mother and her uncle Brandon.

"It's a bit weird."

"You're just not used to good music, sweetling," he gave back with an offhanded grin. "Wait a moment." He disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with two other LPs.

"Here. You might like this one better," he said, still smirking, and exchanged the vinyl with deft fingers, exceedingly careful to do no damage. Sansa smiled to herself – so he said he didn't _care_ about his music.

The piece he played her was a lot calmer, more melodious. It made her a little sad and at first she couldn't tell why. For a moment she listened to the peculiar voice of the singer, then she muttered, careful not to phrase it as a question: "I can't picture you as a teenager."

He shrugged and, to her surprise, replied casually: "Floppy, curly, embarrassing hair and weird eighty's clothes. It wasn't a good era for tasteful outside appearances, but at least you could sometimes make being a misfit into something cool."

Sansa grinned. Okay, she _could_ picture it. "How d'you mean?"

"Punks were very fashionable, and they made a great show of not being like everyone else. So if I felt out of place, I could tell myself that made me far cooler than the Tullys. Not that anyone else thought along the same lines." He rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. "We did all sorts of things to be _cool,_ Ed and me, when we were fifteen. Stole stuff, mostly. Cigarettes, beer, Brynden Tully's car…"

"Did he ever find out?"

"I wouldn't have lived to see another day," Petyr replied drily, avoiding her eyes.

The song reached the chorus and suddenly Sansa remembered why it sounded so familiar. "Mum listened to that."

Petyr smiled, but it didn't look very happy. Rather nostalgic, with his usual touch of bitterness. "She always had better taste than her sister."

He got to his feet and put up another LP. "Though Cat always hated this one."

Sansa frowned up at him. "That sounds… even weirder than the rest."

His face was unreadable and he held out a hand. "Come here."

"Why?"

"It's good music. How long since you've last danced?"

She stared up at him incredulously. "Sorry what?"

"Dance with me," he repeated flatly, still offering her a hand. "You look like you could do with a dance, sweetling."

With a frown, Sansa got to her feet and cautiously placed her hand in his. "You can't dance to this song," she muttered, trying to avoid his sharp eyes.

It didn't work.

"Can't I?" he replied with a smirk, placed a hand on her hip and Sansa had to find, much to her disappointment, that he could indeed dance to this song.

 _I can see the destiny you sold  
turning to a shining band of gold_

A mocking spark glittered in his green eyes.

 _I'll be wrapped around your finger  
I'll be wrapped around your finger_

Oh, she could see why he liked this song, the cryptic lyrics were right down his street and the melody had something hypnotic to it.

Besides, he was right – it had been _ages_ since she'd last danced. Well, alright, she'd danced with Joffrey sometimes, but he had been an acceptable dancer at best. The last time she'd actually danced with someone halfway capable of dancing was her last Christmas Day with her family, when she'd danced with Robb.

And though there was a lot to be said about Petyr Baelish, he _was_ an excellent dancer. It was a slow dance, and Petyr being Petyr got just a little too close, and his grey-green eyes didn't let her go…

There was a hint of a smile playing around his lips as he slowly spun her around, and Sansa loathed herself because she hated that he'd let her go.

When she turned back around, she lost her balance ever so slightly and stumbled forward, getting just a tiny bit closer to him than she'd intended.

And even though her breath caught in her throat for some reason, she didn't miss the way his eyes seemed a little out of focus at her sudden proximity.

 _It's affecting him,_ she realised suddenly. I'm _affecting him._

She almost smiled.

"Will you tell me more about you and Mum? She never really spoke about her childhood," she asked softly.

Petyr just looked at her, his eyes still ever so slightly glassed over.

 _I will turn your face to alabaster_

"I shouldn't have told you anything either, sweetling," he murmured. "Do you have that effect on other people, or am I just that much of an idiot?"

He looked almost helpless. Sansa felt dizzy, his eyes still bearing into hers, and the music didn't help.

 _when you find your servant he's your master_

She gripped his shoulders tighter to not lose her balance. Oh God, her head was spinning…

 _You'll be wrapped around my finger_

If she was right… if she really had such an effect on him… then that maybe didn't change anything about the fact she was at his mercy.

But it meant _he_ was at _her_ mercy as well. And that changed everything.

 _You'll be wrapped around my finger_

Looking back, the victorious feeling had probably got to her head, or maybe the music _had_ somehow managed to hypnotise her. She crossed the last distance between them, gripping his shirt collar firmly, and kissed him.

 _You'll be wrapped around my finger_

And the worst thing was that she _enjoyed_ it. Far too much.

* * *

 _And here's a list of those songs:_

Van Halen - Why Can't This Be Love

The Police - Can't Stand Losing You (Totally the modern-day soundtrack to Petyr's thoughts right before the duel, trust me ^^)  
The Police - Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic  
The Police - Wrapped Around Your Finger

I always pictured Petyr as a Police fan. They have those incredibly deep lyrics and complex harmonies and just the right humour, they're just a band for smart, educated people, and his intellect is the only thing Petyr's ever been complimented on.  
Plus, they've just made some great music.

(I put those books there mostly for their manipulative, slightly demonic main characters, To Kill a Mockingbird because I couldn't resist the stupid pun *lol* Except of course for the one I've quoted - it's not very hard to guess which novel that is, I suppose. Let me not go on and on here about how many parallels there are between Petyr and Cat and the main character of that book and his love interest.)

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 _ **Please take a moment to review.**_


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